


This Little Light of Mine

by CoffeeJay



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bars and Pubs, Case Fic, Corpses, Discrimination, Fluff, Gen, Hank is a concerned father, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Murder, One Shot, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Slice of Life, Tags Are Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeJay/pseuds/CoffeeJay
Summary: Things are different now, but some things never change.  Hank and Connor understand each other pretty well.





	This Little Light of Mine

“This is the place.”

Connor peered out the dirty window of Hank’s car.  A crumpled chain-link fence guarded the slack jawed mouth of an alley, all garbage and graffiti and worn old bricks.  Police officers and other investigators milled around it like flies. A single line of yellow holo-tape stretching across the scene confirmed Hank’s assessment:

This was the crime scene.

Connor had investigated seventy-seven homicides with Hank since the revolution.  Sixteen of them had involved alleyways such as the one before him now. Of those cases, thirteen had involved only one victim. The majority of those had been either shot or stabbed, although there had been one strangulation.  

Hank and Connor stepped out of the car, made their way through the swarm of officers, and crossed the holo-tape.

“Jordan Reid,” said Hank, stopping short of the bloodied body.  “Proud owner of three new holes, as of--”

“--Two hours and twelve minutes ago,” Connor finished, kneeling to examine the corpse.  Traces of red ice glinted under his gaze, stuck firm to the victim’s lips, nearly lost beneath the blood.  Connor followed the trail of blood down the victim’s body until he reached the three bullet wounds. One of them had been made from a different angle than the others.  “The victim was very likely intoxicated on red ice at the time of death,” said Connor, getting to his feet.

“Figures,” Hank sighed.  “Go on.”

“The suspect stood above the victim to deliver the final shot,” Connor continued, demonstrating as he spoke.  “However, the other two entry wounds, when examined in conjunction with the blood splatter patterns, indicate that initially, the shooter was on the ground, while the victim stood over them.  The suspect was likely lying--” Connor scanned the alley, and amidst all the trash and debris found a ratty blanket wadded up against a dumpster on the opposite side of the alley from the body.  “--there,” said Connor, approaching the evidence.

Hank followed him, nodding along.  “Alright, so the victim comes stumbling down this way, high as a kite,” he figured.  “And if our suspect is homeless-- maybe they didn’t like the idea of sharing the alley with our victim, and shot him for it?”

A strap poking out from behind the dumpster caught Connor’s attention.  Carefully, he reached into the shadow and fished out a backpack. “No, not quite,” said Connor as he peered inside the bag.  “Our suspect left behind this backpack, which contains a moderate amount of cash and a few spare articles of clothing. They wouldn’t have left this behind unless they left in a panic.  It doesn’t seem likely that someone cold enough to kill over territory would become so panicked afterwards that they would leave their few possessions behind.”

Hank pressed his fist against his lips in concentration before suddenly declaring, “Self defense.”

“Precisely, Lieutenant,” said Connor.  “The victim approached the suspect, but due to the victim’s intoxication, the suspect felt threatened.  The suspect shot the victim twice.” He swiveled on his heel to face the body and continued, “The victim then staggered back and landed here, but was still alive.  The suspect, perhaps panicked at what they had done, finished the job before fleeing the scene.”

“Seems about right,” Hank conceded.  “Maybe we should start with the bar across the street, see if anyone in there saw who--”

“The suspect’s name is Joan Hardt, thirty-eight years old, who was recently unemployed as a security guard, and who has no criminal record,” said Connor.  Between his fingers, he held up an ID card, and on his face, he wore the faintest grin. 

The officers that had been watching Hank and Connor’s progress immediately got to work searching for the suspect, and very slowly, Hank nodded.  “Great,” he said, pressing his lips together in a line. “Nice work, Connor. Fantastic, actually.” He led Connor out of the alley as he turned to him and said, “Could you just remind me-- Why exactly do you need me here, again?”

“Because we’re partners, Lieutenant,” Connor explained, the picture of sincerity.  Hank only rolled his eyes and kept walking. When Hank passed his car and began to cross the street, however, Connor asked, “Are we not going back to the station to complete our report?  There isn’t much left to do here.”

“Nope,” Hank replied.  “I’m going to the bar, first.”

Connor fell silent for a few paces.  “Hank, you will have been sober for three months, if you’ll just go two more days,” he finally said.  “And I would also like to remind you that we’re still technically on duty--”

“Jesus, I’m not--” Hank rounded on Connor, exasperation pinching his features.  “I’m just going to ask around and see if anyone saw anything. Relax,” he huffed.

Connor met his eyes for a lingering second before he nodded.  “Of course,” he said at last. “I’ll analyze the patrons, then.”

“Sure,” Hank agreed, turning to the bar once more.  “I’ll take the staff. We’ll see what they have to say, and then we’ll go home.”  With that, he opened the door and ushered Connor inside. 

In the corner of his eye, Connor caught the image of a faded sign on the door: no androids allowed.  It was entirely possible the business owner had simply forgotten to remove the sign after the segregation of androids from places of business had been made illegal in recent months.  It could simply have been a forgotten fixture on the door, lost amongst all the posters and advertisements that had been pasted there before, likewise forgotten.

Somehow, Connor knew that simple forgetfulness was not the answer.

The patrons didn’t bat an eye at their entrance, although a few of them glanced over their drinks before getting back to drinking them.  Connor decided to start with a lone woman at the bar while Hank chatted with the barkeeper.

“Excuse me, miss,” Connor began.  Very slowly, the woman gave him her glassy, unfocused attention.  “I’m Detective Anderson, with the DPD. Did you notice anything odd happening in the last few hours?”

“You mean the murder?” came the dry, groggy reply.

“So you saw something?”

“Saw the lights outside,” the woman continued.  “Didn’t hear nothin’, though. Those people over there keep yappin’ about it,” she explained, shooting a hateful glare over her shoulder at a trio of men in the corner.  “Should ask them.”

Connor left the woman to her drink and approached the men.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m Detective Anderson, with the DPD.”

As he introduced himself, the men ceased their chatter, lowered their drinks, and turned to face him.

“You’re here about that murder that happened across the street, right?” said the youngest of the three, far too cheerfully.  “We saw the whole--”

“Hang on,” his buddy interrupted him.  The man peered up into Connor’s face, staring at his temple.  “He’s one of them.”

All at once, the three men soured.

“What did you see?” Connor prompted the youngest one, electing to ignore the glares he was getting.

“He didn’t see nothing,” the third man answered for him.  “Nothing that concerns you, anyway, Robocop.”

“Yeah, why don’t you go ask the vending machine outside what it saw?” the second man chuckled.  “I bet you two have more in common, anyway.”

Connor looked from one sneering face to the next before he put on a stiff smile and said, “There are plenty of human police officers at the station, if you would prefer to speak with them there.”

The second man jumped to his feet and was toe to toe with Connor the next second.  “Was that a threat, tin can?” he demanded.

Connor’s olfactory sensors indicated that the man’s blood alcohol level was approximately .09.  A scan of his face indicated that the man had been cited multiple times for destruction of property, among other charges.  More recently, he had acquired an assault charge. Also recently, the charge for attacking an android had been changed from destruction of property to assault.

“Why?” said Connor, tilting his head at the man, a dare in his eyes.  “Do you feel threatened?” 

Connor had already prepared to dodge the man’s fist when Hank threw himself between the two of them.  “I suggest you sit the fuck down,” Hank told the man.

“Who the hell are you?  I didn’t know they made androids so ugly--”

“I’m no android, but I am gonna throw your ass in jail if you don’t back the fuck up,” Hank politely informed him.  Reluctantly, the man did as he was told. Hank glared at him for a long minute before he placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder and said, “Come on.  We’re done here.”

“Wait,” said Connor.  Hank frowned at him. “I believe this young man was about to share some information that might help our investigation.” 

Slowly, and with no small amount of contempt, Hank turned to face the youngest man at the table.  “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m all ears.”

“Um,” said the young man, fidgeting in his seat.  “Sorry, I, uh-- I didn’t see anything.”

“That so?” said Hank.

“I saw somethin’,” the second man offered before the youngest man could reply.  “I heard those shots, and then I saw an android come running out of the alley.”

“An android,” Hank blandly repeated, his eyebrows raised.

“That doesn’t make any sense--Did you happen to see what model it was?” Connor insisted.

The man looked to Connor, and through curdled lips said, “Depends.  What model are you?” 

“Okay,” Hank huffed, pulling Connor towards the door as the men laughed.  “That’s about as much bull as I can take in one night.”

Connor followed him outside while some sickly sensation washed over him.  Perhaps it was anger. Perhaps it was shame. Connor wanted nothing more than to ignore it until it vanished.  “Did you learn anything helpful?” he asked, hurrying alongside Hank to the car.

“Only that you were right,” Hank told him.  “The owner said he saw Joan Hardt running down the street after he heard the shots.”

“So there was no android,” Connor stated.

Hank tiredly shook his head and slid into the driver’s seat of his car.

Connor followed suit, staring blankly ahead, not seeing the crime scene in front of him, or anything else, even as Hank pulled away.

The two of them rode in silence for several minutes before Hank cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Connor hummed.

“Well,” Hank started, “You ditched the android clothes as soon as it was legal.”

“Yes,” said Connor, glancing over at Hank.  “We both agreed that the lights posed a safety hazard during situations which require stealth.”

“Right,” Hank nodded along.  “And now you own a whopping two shirts.”

Connor shot him a crooked grin and said, “It’s important to have a spare.”  They both knew Connor didn’t have much need for variety in his clothing. Hank still teased him about it on a regular basis.  “You’re not asking about my wardrobe, are you, Hank?”

Hank huffed a laugh and shook his head.  “No, it’s not that. It’s-- how do I put this?” he breathed.  He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter before deciding on, “Plenty of androids remove their LEDs.  Is there any particular reason you haven’t?”

The car went quiet until Connor asked, “Why?  Do you think I should?” 

“Wouldn’t it make life easier for you?” Hank asked him.  “Case in point: those jackasses back at the bar. They wouldn’t have given you any shit if they thought you were human.” 

Connor turned his eyes back towards the road and said, “I’m not human.”

“Well, no,” Hank sighed.  There was such concern beneath his words.  “But son, wouldn’t it be simpler if you let people think you were?  Nobody would be able to tell the difference if you didn’t have that mood ring right there for everyone to see.”

A light laugh escaped Connor.  “You’re right,” he said. “I could pry off this LED today and be treated completely differently tomorrow.  Nobody would have to know, except the people at the station, and I doubt that many of them would even notice right away.”

“So why don’t you take it off?” Hank asked.  “What, would it hurt? Because I’m sure we could find a way--”

“Hank, we’ve discussed this,” said Connor.  “I don’t feel pain.”

“No, you experience distress signals that alert you to anomalies in your biocomponents, or whatever the hell it was you said,” Hank retorted, rolling his eyes.  “As far as I’m concerned, that’s pain.”

Connor leaned back in his seat and let a little more road pass beneath the tires before he said, “No, it wouldn’t hurt.  But I’m still keeping it.”

“Well okay then,” said Hank, letting out a breath.  

“You don’t think I should keep it.”

“I just don’t get why you would.”

Connor watched the light on his temple flash in his reflection.  “I like it,” he finally said. “It’s a part of me. I’ll hide it when I have to, but at the end of the day, it’s still a part of who I am.”  He paused, glanced at Hank, and added, “Believe it or not, I actually like being an android.”

Hank spread his hands out on the steering wheel and nodded his head.  “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough.”

A few more minutes passed before Connor said, “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you as well, Hank.”

“Shoot.”

The corner of Conner’s mouth twitched upwards as he said, “Many humans dye their grey hair to more youthful shades.  Why haven’t you?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Hank drawled.  “Very funny, Chuckles. I’m pretty sure Cyberlife screwed up and sent me a comedian instead of a detective.”

“What does that make you, Lieutenant?”

“Long suffering,” Hank huffed, shaking his head in bemusement.  “Look, point taken. Keep your mood ring. Just make sure you bail me out if I have to kick someone’s ass about it, alright?”

“Of course,” said Connor, a fond smile on his face.  “What are partners for?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom, and I just had to write out some of my ideas. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.


End file.
